


Turnabout is Only Fair

by Everlind



Series: Young Folks verse [10]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Aftercare, Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Human, BDSM, Biting, Bondage, Consensual Kink, Dom/sub, Frottage, Humanstuck, M/M, Masturbation, Multiple Orgasms, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Sex Toys, Sloppy Makeouts, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-13
Updated: 2014-04-13
Packaged: 2018-01-19 06:47:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1459861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Everlind/pseuds/Everlind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“How are you feeling?”</p><p>“Like I got hit by a sexy car,” you respond. Is that your voice? Sounds like you have laryngitis, yikes. “Beep beep meow.”</p><p>“You’re ridiculous,” he says.</p><p>“Well, your jeans are pinching at my ass,” you manage. “Take them off and bake me pancakes.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Turnabout is Only Fair

**Author's Note:**

> Follow up to [this](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1192524/chapters/2433366)  
> My sincerest gratitude to cherrymilkshake, orangelemonart and nerdish for dragging me through this, and to pinkstarpirater for the infallible support.

You are nervous.

Maybe it is the waiting, the knowing that it is going to happen and your complete inability to stop it.

(knowing that you won’t want to stop, probably, oh man)

It is the first time ever you’re doing this sort of thing and it scares you a little. Not knowing what it’ll be like, only ever having experienced the other side. And that had been, yeah. Wow. His cheeks’d been wet with tears, he’d hung on to you like it’d keep him from shattering to pieces and that was _after_ he’d come apart beautifully.

You’re going to let him do that to you. Oh man.

Also you are kinda horny and you wish you weren’t, because it’s _weird_ , okay?! Gosh, so weird. You’d wanted to know when this was going to happen, didn’t want to be caught off guard, you know. Wanted to be ready, get yourself mentally fortified. Really dumb of you, in retrospect, because now all you can do is sit and wait for Karkat to come home and-

And what?

You don’t know what, is the problem.

Not that you didn’t talk about it. Geez, did you _talk_ about it. Bluh. Karkat is like a dog with a bone when he doesn’t want to let something go. _Insisted_ you talk about it, about- well, all the things: what you wanted, what you didn’t want and it was kinda sorta totally very embarrassing. And boy, Karkat can _talk_. Hours. There are words for sex stuff you didn’t even know were like, an actual _thing_. Man, were you wrong. Yikes. There were words. Sooooo many words. And he was at the other side of the screen so you couldn’t even shoveticklekiss Karkat to shut him up.

Okay, you get that boundaries and communication are important to this sort of thing. You really do. It’s just that the talk was a lot more fun when it wasn’t about _you_.

Somehow between lots of ‘what no I don’t want to be slapped’ and ‘people put _stuff_ in their dick for _fun_?’ the both of you had managed to stumble through all the ‘do’s and don’t’s’. You’d kinda wanted to sink through the floor because you were blushing so hard.  

And in barely a few hours he’s going to come home and, well, do them. To you. The stuff you’d okayed. Maybe even some of the stuff you weren’t clear about yourself, because how are you even supposed to know, really?

All you do know is that he’s going to use those handcuffs.

Yeah, okay. Your heart is thrumming in your chest and you got a healthy semi going on and it’s all very weird. You showered, got yourself clean as you can and you’re in his apartment all alone, staring at the television and not seeing a single thing, because you’re squeezing your thighs together and squirming.

This going to be a long day.

*

The sound of his key sliding home into the lock startles you into standing up. Suddenly your heart is on the back of your tongue and instead of simply sitting back down again and trying to act normal, you kneel on the couch to watch him shuffle through the door.

Karkat drops down his backpack with this viciously final sort of ‘thump’, glares at it like it personally wronged him. You smother a smile. Kicks off his boots - _bang_ , _thud_ -  still frowning, before blinking to glance at you staring at him from over the back of the couch -sharp and sudden.

And you just, well.

You’ve never really been able to explain why Karkat. Why out of everybody on the whole world, it was him. It’s something you felt in your gut, still feel -this achy warm spot deep inside you that you don’t have a word for; the centre of your body and the bottom of your heart and that place right under your ribs against the back of your spine. It’s something you honestly have no explanation for. The way he talks, like boiling hot water left on the fire too long, about to explode up and over the rim. The way he moves, sudden spikes of harsh energy punctuated with clawed hands and bared teeth, the way he can go watchful still right after. The lines of his face and the dark intensity he has about him. The way he’s a total dork and just a little bit (a lot) silly at times, how he just makes you want to ruffle his hair because geez, Karkat, you’re such a dweeb. His wry, sideways shark smile and the way he cares too much about all of the things all at once.

Also he’s super attractive. That is definitely a thing that is true. Well, you always thought so.

“Can I help you?” he goes, ducking his head questioningly at you and raising an eyebrow.

You slink down to sit on your calves, kneeling. “Hi,” you go, for lack of anything better. It’s like that one glance of his injected you with a shot of frizzling, bubbling energy, which is spreading under your skin at an alarming rate. 

“Did you sit there all damn day waiting for me to come home?” Karkat asks, crossing his arms and considering you with this air that suggests he thinks you’re completely ridiculous, but he might just be ever so slightly flattered, too. That or he’s constipated. Hard to tell.

“Noooo!” you burst out defensively. “I was watching— watching… uuuuuh,” shit, you have to dart a look over your shoulder to see what exactly it is that’s playing on the TV. It’s the shopping channel, currently advertising something to remove back hair. Okay. Uh.

“Yeah, sure,” he goes, rolling his eyes. “It’d be fucking fantastic if you succeeded in rubbing those two shrivelled failures of cognitive deduction you dare call braincells together and generate half a thought to, hey, do something halfway productive. Like the dishes.”

“Wow rude, I’m like your guest, dude!” you point out. “What kind of hospitality is that supposed to be?”

Karkat advances far enough into the apartment to spark nervous jitters along your spine, but stays out of reach. “You’ll be my guest for two whole fucking weeks. It’d be nice if you made yourself useful once in a while.”

You scrunch up your nose. He’s right of course, but. _Chores_. Bluh. 

“Speaking of making yourself useful,” he murmurs softly and you go very, very still. Because that’s his sexy times voice, only not at all, because there’s steel underneath even if the timbre is all low and rough the way he goes when, well. You swallow and your throat clicks. You love the grittywarmaffectionate of it, how it makes you want to get close to hear it catch at his throat on the way out.

And, aw dammit, you totally shiver at the sound of it.

Of course, Karkat sees. “Go to my room,” he says. It startles you and you hesitate because you need a moment to figure out what is going on, but then he says: “John.” Just that, just your name with a flick of his eyes towards the hall and you want to shrink into yourself because you didn’t do what he asked and— _what_? What?

That’s. Okay, shit. You still get up, though. Get up and hurry down the hall towards his room, slip inside. Stand in the middle of it breathing hard, trying to wrap your head around what just happened. It’s just you, only you, alone —where? You don’t understand, but then the piping hums and the burner flicks on and he’s- he’s showering.

Making you wait.

This is not what you expected. Even though you should have, really. When the two of you talked about this and your respective expectations, Karkat told you he’d very much like to ‘order you around’. Which, at the time, had cracked you up big time because _of course_ that’s what’d get his jollies off, _pfff, geez Karkat, like nobody saw that one coming, please_. You’d agreed all the same, figuring you’d humor him. Just do what he asked without being a brat and talking back. For once. Which you are perfectly capable of. 

You’d not expected to feel like you’d want to obey. To do good and please him.

You’d not expected to still be hard, dammit. 

What should you do? He can’t expect you to just stand around while he’s being an asshole and leaving you hanging, right? 

(…right?)

So you sit on the bed, heavy and tense with not knowing. Fiddle with the hem of your shirt, curl your bare toes into woven rug and try to breathe steady. You trust Karkat, always have, even way at the beginning when you had no reason to and it was just plain dumb to do so. So you know he won’t, uh, do you up the butt. You asked him not to, so you know he won’t. Still. 

Karkat enters the room. He’d dressed. In jeans even (the ones you like a lot, grey with the rip over the left knee and gone all faded over his thighs from wear). His hair is all solid curls, still wet. There’s a towel slung around his neck to catch the errand drops. He looks wonderful. For a moment he just stands there, considering you with dark eyes, before reaching for his desk chair and pulling it towards the middle of the room. Sits down in it, left-ankle-to-right-knee.

He’s taking this so seriously and part of you is totally cracking up, rearing to go over there and poke a few holes in his attitude. But you don’t, just sit there with your hands a knot in your lap and your pulse heavy in your ears.

Karkat’s attractive, okay? You like the way he looks. He’s heavier and more defined than you, enough so to show it even through the shirt when he shifts, muscles clenching and releasing as he settles. You like the brown hue of his skin and the thick wildness of his hair, the line of his jaw and those long lashes. He’s sitting in that stupid chair like a king on a throne watching you wordlessly. Golden sunlight streams in through the window behind you, gilding him in bronze and warmth. 

His expression is unreadable and you feel like you don’t know him at all.

“John.”

Your heart leaps when he says your name.

“Stand up,” he says.

Okay, that you can do.You push yourself to your feet, bite the inside of your cheek at the way his eyes hold yours for a moment, before deliberately traveling down your body. Slowly. You restlessly shift under that scrutiny.

And then: “Strip.”

Your brain goes: ERROR. Does not compute. Wait, what? Okay, hang on, rewind, hold the press, wait just a frickin’ moment, you’re not sure how you feel ab-

He interrupts your line of thought -which is rapidly descending into a gibberish disaster consisting mainly of ‘eek’ and ‘what’ anyway- with a pointed: “John.”

Didn’t say you had to be sexy about it or do something, well _embarrassing_ (like a dumb dance or whatever). Just take off your clothes, which you do, embarrassed anyway -really, he’s seen you naked lots of times, but he was always equally naked or at least aroused or something. Not like this. This ominous lack of any sort of noisy Karkatness you’re so used to. 

You finish quickly, dropping shirt, jeans and boxers one by one on his dresser. All as unsexy as you can out of pure stubborn wilfulness. And, really, penis, really? Why are you still okay with this?! You’re barely half hard anymore but it’s still there and you know Karkat can see and that’s just. really. embarrassing. Down. Begone. Shoo! Damn it. This isn’t fair.

Bah. There. You give him a pointed ‘you happy?!’ sort of look. And hey, you catch a twitch at the corner of his mouth, there-and-gone, but you got a reaction out of him. Hah! 

You stand there, naked and awkward, with your dick just hard enough to stick out at a funky angle. Yeah, okay, this is weird. Your face feels overheated and you don’t know where to put your hands. Karkat is _staring_ at you, face impassive and that’s even weirder. Karkat is never passive, but it's doing _something_ to you,  your skin all charged and too big for your self. The way he looks at you makes you want to- to- not hide, not really, but go to him, talk to him, have his acknowledgement, earn it, whatever it is that he wants.

Okay. You want him to touch you, you really want that. He doesn’t. Just sits on his stupid dumb chair, like the stupid dumb jerk he is. With his expression gone carefully neutral, he seems almost bored. You shift your weight, swallow.

“Touch yourself for me.” You, yeah, you totally gape at him, speechless. All you get is a faint smug quirk of the lips back. “You may sit on the bed.”

“Wow, _thank_ you,” you snark back.

You know, as soon as it leaves your mouth, that you fucked up. Worst of all is that he doesn’t even so much as raise his voice. It’s Karkat, yelling is what he does, probably was born trash talking the nurse for handling him too roughly. Instead he looks disappointed and, oh, oh no, _ouch_.

“I will fucking gag you,” Karkat tells you matter-of-factly, “last chance, you arrogant brat. Sit your ass down on that bed.”

You sit your ass down on that bed. Your face feels on like it’s on fire. Inside your chest your heart hammers frantically, hard enough you can feel your pulse thump under the edge of your jaw. The sheets are soft and cool under the backs of your thighs, between your fingers as you curl them into fists.

“What’s your color, John?”

This guy. You’ve barely done anything, but he already feels the need to check. Probably just as nervous about this as you are. 

“Green,” you answer. You could sing this tune in your sleep, easy. Green for _go_ or _more_. Yellow for _stop doing that_ or _too much_ —or, in your case _I don’t know_. Red for _stop_. For the past few days he's done nothing but drill this into you over and over.

A nod, and a subtle current of tension leaves him. Just as nervous as you are. “Then what are you waiting for?” he prompts.

Oh yeah. He wants you to- oooooh boy. Right. Okay. You can do that. It’s just your dick. You’ve touched it before lots of times. You’ve even touched yourself during sex with him, so really, nothing new going on (but he wasn’t pretending to be King Karkat of the Dumb Desk Chair either).

You curve your fingers over yourself. No earth shattering pleasure in that. Not bad either. Trace the length of your dick with the pad of your thumb. Your eyes fall shut as you focus on chasing the slow unfurling sensation. Touch yourself the way you like it, not too fast, not now, up your length and wrist twisting to catch fingers at the head.

Feels better. You exhale and spread your thighs a little. A sharp intake of air -not yours. You open your eyes and peek.

Karkat is bad at hiding his emotions. He sucks at it. A lot. You have to bite the inside of your cheek to keep from bursting into sniggers, because Karkat is trying _so hard_ to keep a straight face, he really is! But he’s pressing his lips together and frowning bad enough he might as well be attempting to lay an egg. He’s totally blushing. It’s cute rather than imposing, makes you want to kiss the furrow between his brows.

Still, your boyfriend is watching you jerk off and liking it, judging by the tent in his jeans. He’s absolutely shameless in watching you, too, eyes hungry and dark.

You can work with that.

Leaning back you prop yourself up on an elbow, making yourself comfortable as you slowly stroke yourself to full hardness. It doesn’t take long. Takes barely longer before there’s a rustle of fabric and Karkat’s getting on the bed with you, up and behind until he’s sitting propped against the headboard all comfortable with a pillow wedged behind him.

“Come here,” he sounds ragged, keyed up, always so easy to get worked up, this guy, but you obligingly hoist your legs onto the bed and scoot towards him. Can’t stop the noise you make when he touches you, a rough palm catching at your bicep - _hey_ , _come here_ \- until you’re cradled against him, back against his chest. Shifts, his legs stretching out to either side of you even as you slip down a little to let your head rest on his shoulder and that’s yeah, _hmm_. Can feel him breathe now, can feel the beat of his heart between your shoulder blades. It's close and warm, the edge of his jaw against your cheekbone gone all scratchy unshaven and _good._  Better when he winds fingers around your wrist and moves your own hand down against your body, a slow slide that stops just before you both bump into your dick. “Don’t mind me,” he says and cups both hands innocently at your hips.

This suddenly got a whole lot worse. Or better. Both you decide, totally both at once. You can’t do this with him looking along over your shoulder and down the length of your body; you’re achingly hard, which is dumb, nothing’s happened, but you are and he’s _watching_ you.

So you close your eyes and wrap fingers around your erection, move up, down-

“Slowly,” he tells you and, hng, damn him. 

Fuck, slow then, _teasing_. Thumbing at the head before tracing downwards, taking the time to appreciate the sensation of your own fingers dragging up your shaft. Just allowing the pleasure to build slowly, then spike suddenly by rolling your palm over the tip. Knead  with the heel of your hand until your body begins doing those little involuntary hitches. Your lips part with noiseless gasps and Karkat presses his cheek hard against the side of your head, his thumbs worrying mindless circles over the arches of your hipbones.

Close now, close enough to press back restlessly into the curve of his body, squirming for it. Close enough for your legs to fall open and hook one over his thigh to spread them even further. Close enough to pry your eyes apart and watch your fingers move on your own cock, spreading the shine of wet need at the slit around. Dark hands framing it all. You want him to kiss you, you like being kissed when you’re gonna come. You want the heat of his mouth at the edges of your lips, but he doesn’t, just watches, and you tip your head sideways into his neck to breathe hard and fast. 

Your hips begin lifting involuntarily, pushing yourself into the grip of your hand to flood your groin with tight need. Close now, almost, and closer still when Karkat presses his face against yours, his exhales hard at your ear and his breath hot on your skin and the frantic pounding of his heart against your back and his hands gripping your hips hard enough to bruise, yes, _yes,_ almost, a little more-

Your body goes ready and taut, feet twisting towards each other as the need washes over you, hand pumping your cock -almost, almost, _almost_ —

“You look close,” Karkat murmurs against your temple. His lips are warm. “Are you going to come?”

You are. Nod into the hollow of his throat, mouth open to pant. He hums, nosing left-right-left along your hairline. 

And then he says: “Stop.”

Even as you falter, it doesn’t really register, you’re so fucking close, right there, can tell it’ll feel really great -strong and hard shudders of pleasure- and he just can’t mean it. You can’t stop, you’re almost there. You whine.

“What did I just tell you,” Karkat hisses, fingernails biting into your hips and no, he can’t he can’t can’t can’t _can’t_. “John.”

You stop.

Eyes flying open and body spasming, the first throbs of your release washing from your groin into your chest. Your stupid dick leaps with the impending waves of an orgasm that you can't have. You stopped. Because Karkat told you to. That single moment of teetering at the cusp of your climax has left you shivering with a rush of adrenaline, terrified yet euphoric. There’s soft voiceless whimpers and shuddering gulps of air you can’t suppress, all weak and needy and helpless. You can’t help it, but your face goes hot with shame.

Lips against the back of your neck, lining up soft nuzzling pecks, before licking up towards your ear and nipping at the lobe. “Good boy, John,” he murmurs. He sounds proud, pleased. You did _good_.

You shiver, nod. Karkat kisses your forehead and shifts his hands to piano his finger playfully across your ribs. All your attention is centred on trying to back away from the edge -heck, you’ve still got a hand on your dick, worried you’ll come if you shift to let go.

He sits up, forcing you along with him. Ever so carefully you unwind finger after finger from your sensitive cock, hissing. It’s a miracle you don’t come. Karkat slips away, leaving you sitting on the bed by yourself, swaying with lightheadedness. You skin breaks out into goosebumps without the heat of his body against your back, and you’re horribly aware of the slow eddies of cold air against your skin.

Metal clinks against metal. 

Oh boy.

“Come here,” Karkat says.

Your thighs are trembling when you stand. Fingers at your hip tell you to turn and face the window. The sun hangs low in the sky. Cars in the street. Birds glide through the air, crisscrossing a dissipating line of contrail stringing two skyscrapers together. You frown, it doesn’t seem real anymore. Far away. Irrelevant. Behind your back, Karkat shackles your hands together.

The cuffs are solid, surprisingly heavy, but lined with forgiving softness. You’re left with your chest exposed, unable to hunch, shoulders straight and tilted back, like you’re on display. With each intake of air your body rocks softly, pulses of non-physical sensation resonating in time to the beat of your heart —your from toes to fingertips, from your cock to your head.

Karkat maneuvres you to face him. You’re stupidly shy of him.

He knows. Pries your chin away from where you’d tucked it against your chest, makes you look at him. There’s no judgement on his face, only affection and, ah, well. Naked greed. To be looked at like that… shit. You lick your lips. Karkat’s exhale comes out in a hot, heady burst against your mouth before he rises himself on his tiptoes to kiss you.

When his lips glance across yours you moan. Can’t help it, you’ve been waiting for this. His mouth is familiar, something that's yours. He’s gentle, sure, but there’s hunger in it, in the way he plucks at your bottom lip with his own, sucks it into his mouth and lets go to lick upwards against the centre of your mouth, drawing an embarrassing ‘ _ah_ ’ from you. You can’t do anything but be kissed and that’s strange and scary and new. You’re horny as hell. Can’t grab him and flatten him under you, roll your hips until he’s a boneless mess gasping your name. Take him apart and put him together with his skin between your teeth and his hands in your hair, no.

Can’t do anything but take it.

Take what he has to give, which is his tongue sliding along the crevice between your lips --a stripe of moist shivering contact, working you open until he can dip inside. He's shamelessly tongue fucking you; unhurried caressing touches within your mouth until you’re dizzy from his taste. He groans and you hum back, frustrated with your inability to touch him. Pulls away just enough to study your flushed face with hooded eyes as he glides both hands up your bare chest.

Drags his thumbs over your nipples.

That’s cheating. You’re ridiculously sensitive. It’s like the damn things are hot-wired to your needy cock and the shock of his touch sends a pulse all through your groin. It’s stupid, it’s dumb and the awful high-pitched noises you want to make are even _worse_.

Karkat stops. Just lifts his hands into the air and backs off.

You hiss out a thin _ffff_ and glare at him.

“I’ll touch you when I hear you,” he says, raising both brows challengingly.

“C’mon,” you plead. He knows you hate those noises. It’s not even deep groaning it’s… it’s… it's just dumb! It's _embarrassing_. “Karkat,” you add, presenting him with your best ‘give me what I want’-face as you lean in to bump your forehead against his.

“I better fucking hear you,” he warns. Pointedly ducks down to place a suckling kiss on your left nipple, godyes, scrape his teeth until it catches at the stiff nub of peaked flesh oh god oh— he stops. You squirm, cheeks burning.

“Please?” you try. Nothing. “Karkat, c’mon please, please, pleasepleaseplease— _ah_!” Your fingers curl helplessly as he tugs it into the heat of his mouth, holds it between teeth. God, fuck you want to grab his hair and keep his head at your chest, it feels deliciously sharp and even though it’s thready and unsure you moan for him. You get a lick and a growl back. When his mouth finds yours again it's heated and wet. He kisses quickly but with fervor, like nothing could be more important. It’s the most powerful feeling in the world;  this ferocious, brilliant person who’s all fury and fierce tenderness putting you at the centre of his universe.

Better even when he reaches and winds fingers insistently around your cock, pumping as you rock into his grip. “You’re so fucking gorgeous,” he whispers, watching your face.

“Yeah?” you manage, voice muzzy and clumsy.

Karkat breaks facade for a moment to smile at you. “Yeah,” he tells you, kissing your cheek. “Sit on my lap.”

He has you straddling him, tips of your toes trailing across the floor. His jeans are rough against your buttocks, worse against your balls. Dark hair tickles your nose as you pant against the steep slope of Karkat’s jaw. He’s curled over, fingers glancing across your dick, doing something, aligning a cold, small device under the head, strapping it against your shaft with an elastic.

“Karkat?” you splutter, rearing back to try and see.

“Don’t sound so worried,” he tells you. Way too cheerful about this, the asshole. You are going to die, you just know it. God, shit, you are, you really  _are_ , there’s a hand between your thighs rolling your balls in his palm, touching a line of sparks on your flesh. Your dick twitches and you feel a dribble of precum well up the tip. “I want to hear you, got it?” he repeats, straightening up and pecking your mouth.

You peer suspiciously at his face.

“John.”

You nod. Right, he wants sound. Man. Alright. “Okay, I’ll try-aaAH!”

what the what the what what what what _what_ —?

It vibrates, whatever it is, it actually vibrates. You shout in surprise, violently lurching into him, it’s it’s— no way to describe the feeling. Sharp and sudden and no, stop, _too much_ , much too much and oddly dull. A constant buzz you can feel right down the root of your dick and further, the tops of your thighs, through you, not just the surface.

Karkat’s voice has gone dark and low. He asks you something, but you’re kinda busy with, you know, groaning and shaking, while you try not to come then and there.

“John?” he says, kisses the side of your face as you cry out, shoulders hitching. Your forehead thunks onto his shoulder. “Feel good?”

You bite his shoulder in response. He chuckles, deep in his chest. You collapse yourself against him, boneless. God, he smells fantastic.

“Shit, look at you,” he murmurs. You gasp, then groan, this long burst of noise that’s incredibly loud and utterly indecent. “Goddamn, John.”

All he has to do is pet your thighs, the lazy bastard. No need for him to actually touch you. You gnaw at his shoulder, furious and so stupidly aroused you don’t give a flying damn that you only get even louder with your teeth parted to clench over his flesh. The ridiculous thing against your cock vibrates relentlessly away. Can’t even pace it, fuck.

“Karkat… I’m… I…” can’t say it. Keen instead, wounded and continuous until your lungs smart for oxygen.

“Breathe, John, breathe.”

You can’t. You’re hissing harsh through your teeth, you’re hurting, you need just a little more. Can’t back away and can’t advance, sharp and unforgiving pleasure, until he finally grabs handfuls of your ass and hauls you close enough your dick bumps against his lower stomach.

You come from nearly nothing at all. Utterly unprepared for it, you all but howl as you bite down, hard. Feels like shattering. Unlike any other orgasm, this one is forcibly wrenched from you. However soft the cuffs are on the inside, they are sturdy metal within. The muscles in your biceps burn as you twist against them because you desperately _need_ something to hold on to. The only option is pitching forward into him, fingernails digging into the heels of your own hands.

Destroyed, you sob into his shoulder as Karkat whispers soft praise at you. “You did good, John, you’re doing great, shh, come here, come here.” He turns it off, the steady vibration cutting away suddenly. Slips it from your abused dick. Pets your hair.

If he weren’t holding you, you might just float away. Your skin tingles, hypersensitive, but you feel carved hollow within, chest airy and open. Your groin is still hot, your dick hurts. There’s only blind need and Karkat, his skin and his hands. His voice. “On your knees,” he commands. You comply. The floor is cold. “That’s it.”

Can't move your arms. Even though you’re distantly aware you’re shaking, you feel warm. Glowing. You rest your face against his thigh as he zips his pants open and pulls out his dick. It flexes hard in your mouth as soon as you wrap your lips around him. He’s loud, he’s always loud, but now you are, too, moaning around his girth.

“Ohfuck _John_ ,” Karkat breathes. Fingers card into your hair. Tugs. That’s good, you like that a lot. You glance up through your lashes to see his face screw up in agonised pleasure, biting his lip as he stares down. Eyes fluttering closed sink your lips down as far as you can, until you can feel the head of his dick tap at the back of your throat. Swallow. “Fuck, fuck, John,” he says hoarsely.

Your mouth is full and you feel light, too light. The hollow space where he scooped you out of yourself begins to scare you and all you want is for him to slip in and fill you up until your skin is fit to burst, locking together and safe.

He growls your name, winds handfuls of your hair between his fingers and pulls you with slow force off his dick. Your upper lip comes away trailing saliva and you’re so boneless the grip he has on your hair is the only thing holding you. You float, split completely from your consciousness and suspended in _this_ , right here, right now, Karkat letting go and your head freefalling a short distance until you check yourself - but not in time to keep your lips from glancing across his dick.

Karkat curses, sudden and loud. Comes. You get your mouth around the head of his cock for most of it, but somewhere along the line a few drops hit your lips. You absolutely do not give a single damn.

“Please,” you beg of him, beyond shame. “Karkat, please, please, please—“

For one painful second you think he’s going to leave, stepping away. You fucked up, you disappointed him, and he could walk away and leave you easy. The idea terrifies you and your cock aches so much, but a small corner of your minds knows he wouldn’t, it’s Karkat, he’s got you, you trust him with your life, you’re safe and he doesn’t leave. He doesn’t. Pulls you back into his lap instead, allows you to grind into him like that. The rough fabric of his jeans chafes your thighs as you half-fall closer against him. At the small of your back your arms are cramping, as you fight the cuffs. Karkat thumbs along your swollen mouth, and kisses you and kisses you and kisses you, slicking tongues together and you want more, you need more, he’s too far away and you’re going to crumble into a flash of light, if you don’t, if he doesn’t and you can’t take much more of this, but it’s not enough, it’s not _enough_.

“God, fuck, please, please, Karkat,”

“Shh, hey, hey. It’s okay,” he soothes, smoothing warm hands along your spine and fuck that. Fuck that.

“Please fuck me, Karkat, please, please, fuck, _please_.”

Arms wrap around your body in a hug. A kiss at the corner of your mouth. Your shoulders hitch, your fingers claw uselessly at air and you rut against his clothed stomach. “John,” he draws your name out hesitantly. “I promised I wouldn’t.”

“No, no, please, I’ll be—” you swallow hard. “I’ll be good, just please, fuck me, fuck me, green! Green, green, _green_ , dammit, please!”

“I—“ He trails off.

You hold still, breathing hard, waiting. Please. Pleasepleasepleasegod _fuckplease_.

“No, John,” he finishes.

Afterwards, maybe, you’ll be ashamed that you start crying. Even more you’ll feel like shit about the look that crosses Karkat’s face as hot tears roll down over your cheeks. You just don’t understand why he won’t, you know he likes to and you want it so bad and you don’t think you’ll survive if he doesn’t.

“Hey, hey. Oh, fuck no,” he kisses your burning face and holds you close, while you hiccup like a total loser into his neck. “I’m not punishing you, John, hey. Shhh, you’re perfect, you did so good, okay? Shhh, calm down. God, fuck, calm down.”

It’s entreating at first, but then he seems to get a grip on himself, on what’s going on, and he repeats more firmly: “Calm down.” It’s a tone that books no argument. 

Your head swims. You’re about to orgasm for a second time. Your shoulders hurt. Your dick hurts.

You calm down.

“That’s it,” he hums, stroking your sides. “I’ll fuck you later, okay? Come here.”

His shirt comes off and his skin is feverishly hot. Like that, you rock yourself to completion, dick running back and forth along the trail of hair running from navel to fly. Karkat hugs you to him, pushing fingers into your hair and cradling your face into that safe space between neck and shoulder, where you huff out short breaths. You fuck the warm, slick place between your stomachs. Thick pressure spreads in heavy heat through your lower abdomen.

A small kiss at your temple. “Come for me, John,” he says and then he bites you right below your ear.

That’s it. Your body goes rigid. You can hear yourself cry out and then you’re coming, hard, heady swollen pleasure and bone-crushing relief, thick steady pulses of it until you’re a shivering ruin in Karkat’s lap. Your face is wet. Your shoulders hurt. Your breathing is erratic.

“Fuck, that was perfect, you’re fucking incredible,” Karkat murmurs at you, with both hands cupping your burning face. Swipes thumbs along your cheeks to catch the tears. “I got you, okay? I got you.”

You nod. You know he does.

Sits you on the bed to undo the cuffs, massages feeling back into your hands and kisses the tips of your fingers. The afterimage the delicate touches leave on your nerves are soft blooms of humming sensation. You stare at your fingers expecting to see, well, _something_ and feel confused when it’s just your hands. It doesn’t seem right, not after what just happened, something as tectonic and raw as this should reveal itself on a surface level.

“Hey,” he nudges you ever so gently, still holding your hands, and you nearly pitch over.

“Uhm,” you go, muzzily.

“Right,” he sounds shocked. “Holy shit.”

“Blurgh.”

He cracks up and you grin dopily. You love to hear him laugh and wow, okay, you’re still way way _waaaaaaaay_ on cloud nine. Also sex-stoned out of your brain. You sniffle and Karkat peppers warm kisses all over your face, gathers you against his front and leans you both against the pillow. Right back where you started. Kinda feels like reality sneezed and wound up an inch to the right or so. Weird. It’s easier to curl up into the warmth of Karkat’s body and allow his long steady strokes to coax you back towards yourself. 

You’re exhausted.

Pushing your sweaty hair away from your face and pressing lips against forehead, Karkat asks: “You okay?” but before you can actually open your mouth he catches your nose between his thumb and forefinger. “I asked, _are you okay_? Don’t just open your facegash and produce the first sound that comes to mind.”

Right. Thinking. You do that sometimes. When you get bored enough to be desperate. You attempt to scrape your brain together and consider it. It’s difficult, you want to sleep and Karkat is warm and his chest rises and falls as he breathes and the beat of his heart is under your ear and and yeah. Hmmm.

“Yeah,” you go eventually. “Intents.”

“Goddammit,” he says. 

“Hahahah,” you burrow into him and close your eyes.

It’s dark when you open them again. Or maybe it already was, you have no idea. Can't remember. Don't really care, either. What you do know, however, is that Karkat’s trailing idle knuckles along the bumps of your spine, cheek pillowed against the top of your head. You rub your face into his chest and get a low hum in return, arms closing around you possessively. 

“Welcome back,” he says, dipping his head to brush his mouth along the bridge of your nose.

“Did I sleep?” you wonder, squinting at the shadowy window. Your glasses are gone, you think you had those on, you’re pretty sure. Must’ve taken them off. Even though you feel discombobulated and light in your head, you feel. Yeah. Really damn good. There’s no crash of humiliation, not the slightest doubt, just deep contentment.

“Half an hour or so,” he tells you.

God, the way his hands keep running up your body, like you’re something precious, something wonderful —you’re stupidly happy. You rub the flat of your palm against his chest, turn your head to kiss his collarbone and - _whoa_ boy. Uhm. His shoulder looks like it’s been mauled by a wild animal. Not like you don’t bite him all the time, but you drew blood on him. Oops?

Karkat doesn’t seem to give a single fuck. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I got hit by a sexy car,” you respond. Is that your voice? Sounds like you have laryngitis, yikes. “Beep beep meow.”

“You’re ridiculous,” he says.

“Well, your jeans are pinching at my ass,” you manage. “Take them off and bake me pancakes.”

“…in that order?”

“Yup.”

“Fine,” he growls and shimmies to sit upright. “Get off.”

“No.”

“You are an impossible little turd.”

“You love it,” you sigh, grinning and arching your back to stretch out the sore muscles.

There’s a pause and then he’s lifting your chin up with a finger to kiss you, warm and sweet. Massages the nape of your neck as you kiss him back, these wandering suckles. Shifting lips that cling as you part and meet again. 

 

“Yeah,” he breathes against your mouth. “I do.”

 

 

- _fin_ -

 


End file.
